In the Spaces Between.

[Glenn]

We work with what we have.

It was true for Myrken, but it was true for everywhere, wasn't it? The only difference was this: In other places, they had more. In Myrken,they had less. It wasn't a matter of relative truth, but of relative importance.

It was true for Kylerryth as well, it that had so, so much. Even it, however, in the end, only had what it had.

The being spoke, more words in a row than any creature had ever spoken in this office with Burnie in the room. Today, however, here, at this key moment, he did not interrupt. He listened, and he worked. The only deviation would be the slight addition of a mark between Darkenhold and the River. It was there that Glenn would place the crane from before.

"Yes." Just like that. Simply put. He knew.

Moving on then, or perhaps moving back. The once-mapmaker looked young, relaxed. He was not smiling, however. "I hate you. Since arriving here, I've such reason to hate so many beings, creatures, people, hard truths. I've had such reason over the years, but I can say with some certainty that I hate you more than any of them. Congratulations."

He continued, not breathing, not hesitating. He had time enough to think this through. He had tabled this until now and for good reason. "You know, I was almost certain I would say this thing, I would rise, and I would vow to destroy you til my dying breath. I would make your last question about what you fear." He let that word linger for a moment, but he did not ask the question. Instead, he explained. "For using us as your playthings. For treating us with scorn. With no care, with no respect, as if we were toys, worthless, all because you can, all because you're bored.

"And you would get a certain level of satisfaction. A certain end to boredom. It may not have been your initial intent, but it would achieve that end you claim to desire." There was a hint of a smile but it was not realized. A seedling squashed underfoot. "So no, I've decided that I will not hate you for all of that. No, I hate you for just how pathetic you are. All of this power. All of this promise. All of this weight behind you, and what do you do with it? You torment us. Myrken. No wonder you're bored, you pathetic wretch. You're an moron. You just happen to be a vaguely omnipotent one. You have the imagination of a worm. I pity you, but more than that, I am offended by you. I don't know how long you've lived. I don't know what grand acts of beauty and serenity you've created in your existence and honestly, I don't care. What I know is that anyone worth anything, no matter how long they lived, would be able to continue to create something worthwhile with power like yours; thus, you are worth nothing at all. Thereby, you are wasting my time, so take your gift and leave."

The map would be pushed forward across the table. On it was marked Myrken, but also Razasan and the whole of Thessilane, beautifully, albeit quickly, sketched out. The crane tumbled over as he pushed. "Go be bored elsewhere, somewhere that they are more suited for your ilk. We know that they have far too much time on their hands in Thessilane, something I do not have the luxury of. In Razasan, they have too much of everything. Go, menace them, give their women the pox, be merry. My gift to you to help guide your way.

"We will deal with the Dreamwaker. We will deal with whatever follows. We will endure. It's what we do. But we'll do so in the way least satisfying to you. So take your gift, take your final question about the secrets of the universe and shove it up your ass, and leave. You needen't mind how you go. Just go."

And Burnie would push the map just a little further before looking down to scattered papers upon his desk. Surely he had something important to sign, something to do with a poorly placed fence or a bard wanting to put on a show in the commons. Something actually worth his time. Could the god in the room with the youthful Governor smite him? Very likely, but what would that prove, save for Burnie's entire point. A dearth of everything meaningful, this Kylerryth.

[Kylerryth]

All was as it needed to be.

When Kylerryth had first looked at Glenn Burnie, into Glenn Burnie, taking him apart and examining him and then reassembling him like a blacksmith's puzzle, he had seen the true depth and measure of the man before him, this young Governor of Myrken Wood. Kylerryth had seen what must be said and done in order to inform and prepare him, and then to drive him to action.

So the enigma did what he needed to: he lied about how he was involved. He gave Glenn a target, something on which to focus his hatred--Kylerryth--and his energy--the destruction of Kylerryth's creations. He lied because it was necessary to free the people of Myrken Wood from the psychic oppression of the Dreamwaker, and because he knew that Glenn Burnie's attitude and personality would, after receiving and processing the information from this meeting, compel him to do whatever must be done to survive. To spite him; because that, above all else, was the hallmark of the juvenile Governor.

Resilience in the face of adversity.

Which, when he considered it, was true for the entirety of Myrken Wood.

Kylerryth lied because they were his, these Myrkenfolk, and it was in his nature to protect his hoard. He could not bask in their presence for long, and could not directly act against the Dreamwaker nor the Four for the same reason: doing so would unleash the full extent, the entire hideous gravity, of his presence. As it was, the windows of Glenn Burnie's office were beginning to crack, forming elegant webs that stretched across the whole of the panes.

The truth of the Dreamwaker's origins, and that of the Four, was far darker. He had hinted at the former in his story of Cameron Holbrook; and, perhaps in the future, Glenn would discover what brought about the Dreamwaker's existence and its odious constructions, the Four and their infernal devastation. For now, however, it did not matter.

What mattered was that Glenn Burnie now had purpose.

Kylerryth reached for the map, a slow, deliberate movement, so as not to give the Governor any cause for alarm, and lifted it for study between thumb and forefinger. Of particular note was the mark Glenn had made to indicate the location of the oak tree; at this, the enigma smiled. The same smile as before, of course ... but now, unbeknownst to the studiously preoccupied Glenn, it was one of pleasure.

"You should extend the property line of the Jharbin farm to the northwest," Kylerryth said, folding the map into a neat square and tucking it into a hip pocket. "By three hundred paces. This will satisfy Koel Jharbin, and his cantankerous neighbors, the Dovacz family, will be pleased that you did not extend it southward, as they intend to petition you as well."

And then he was gone. Just as he had appeared, there had been no sound, no visual cues. He left no physical trace, only the impact of memories.

All was as it needed to be.

[Glenn]

Purpose.

Purpose, but more than that direction. So much was learned here. The accuracy of it? That was debatable, but all of it was reasonable. It all made sense. Burnie would be a fool to deny it out of hand. Information was written down, not quickly, not in a rush, but slowly throughout the day, at the Governor's pace.

As for the property line being extended? He'd review the matter quickly, would even consider it. The time for such convenience and pride was long over.

This was Myrken.

They worked with what they had.